I poked around a bit more in Jahn’s bedroom and found a battered address book that included Evan’s name, but when I dialed, I heard only the message that the number had been disconnected. I would have called the office and talked to Jahn’s secretary, but it was Saturday, and this hardly seemed like the kind of thing I should bother her at home for.
I was about to ditch the whole thing and give Flynn or Kat a call, when I realized there was one more place I could check. I reached for my phone, searched the Internet for Destiny, and dialed.
“Destiny,” a woman’s voice crooned. “Where your fantasy is our pleasure.”
“Um, yeah. Hi.”
“How can I help you?” She sounded perfectly polished while I sounded like an idiot.
“I’m looking for Evan Black. Could you tell me if he’s there right now?”
“I’m sorry, we don’t expect Mr. Black for another hour. Can I have him return the call?”
“Oh. Um, no. Thanks, but I’ll just call back.”
I stabbed my thumb on the button to end the call feeling a bit like I’d just done espionage. I did, however, now have a plan.
I glanced down at myself, and realized I was still wearing yoga pants and the Northwestern T-shirt I’d bought my freshman year. Not exactly appropriate attire for a strip club. Then again, I had no idea what one wore to a so-called gentleman’s club, and though I’d had the chance to find out in college, I’d manage to completely blow that opportunity.
My roommate sophomore year had thought it would be a hoot for a group of us to check out a strip club, and she’d set her sights on Destiny, which she’d heard was the biggest, nicest, least sleazy strip club in the area.
I’d been desperately curious, not only because I knew the knights owned the place, but also because I was dying to know what went on inside a club like that. Were the women completely nude? How exactly did a lap dance work? And were there really private rooms where guys went for a three-martini lunch and a blow job?
And, though I hadn’t shared this little tidbit with my friends, I also wanted the kindling to fuel my imagination. Because even though I didn’t really know what went on inside a gentleman’s club, I’d read enough and seen enough movies and TV to know that at the very least there would be girls doing sexy dances and getting guys hot. Teasing and titillating and being rewarded with bills in their G-strings and the high of adrenaline.
I told myself I only wanted to go and watch and stoke my own fantasies. But it’s not easy to lie to yourself, and the truth was I didn’t want the fantasy, I wanted the rush, and I was afraid that with enough coaxing and enough liquor, I might give in if my friends pushed me up on that stage, expecting me to squeal and blush and rush away. I might surprise them with how much I enjoyed gyrating to the music. With how much it turned me on to know that all those men’s eyes were on me, but they weren’t allowed to touch.
The whole idea got my juices flowing just a little too much, and in the end I backed out. I claimed that I had a paper to write. But really, I was simply determined not to do anything to risk my reputation as a girl who had her shit together and played by the rules.
Tonight, though, I was tossing those rules aside. And that opened the door to a lot of interesting possibilities.
I mean, if nothing else, it was time to have a little fun with my wardrobe.
twelve
I ended up dressing in a sheer, white short-sleeved blouse over a blood-red bra. I paired it with a black circle skirt that hit mid-thigh, sexy and flirty and—if I do say so myself—totally hot.
I finished the outfit with strappy black sandals with four inch heels and a small red purse to tie the whole thing together. I’d spent more time than I liked to admit debating about my wild, thick hair—always my nemesis—and ended up piling it on top of my head and letting a few tendrils hang down in what I hoped was a provocative manner.
Finally, I’d kept my makeup simple, highlighting my lips in red and my eyes in a smoky gray.
I stood in front of the full-length mirror and assessed the result of my efforts. I needed to be prepared. Confident. Sexy.
I wanted him to look at me and get hard. I wanted him to look at me and regret walking away.
Most of all, I wanted him to look at me like he didn’t even see the clothes I was wearing, and then I wanted this outfit that I’d so carefully selected to be wrinkled on the floor, tossed negligently there as Evan pulled me down into his bed.
I drew in a breath, struck a pose, and decided that if this outfit didn’t do the trick, nothing would.
I considered having Peterson ring for Jahn’s driver—as hard as it was for me to remember, those services were mine now—but decided that I needed to be more confident. A driver would wait for me, after all, but I didn’t want to have any way home other than in Evan’s car.